


Vantablack 2.0

by Lastactiontricia



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 10:58:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16852762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lastactiontricia/pseuds/Lastactiontricia
Summary: Status: One ShotWord Count:1119Category: HorrorRating: 18+ It’s a horror story folks so its prolly triggery afCharacter(s): Sam, Dean, Cas, Michael(s), LuciferPairing(s): noneWarnings: see rating aboveAuthor’s Note(s): Vantablack is a real coating- look it up, its pretty cool. I imagined a correlation between that and the cage. 99% of light absorbed? That’s some scary shit by itself.Overall Summary: Sometimes things don’t stay buried and the problems you’ve forgotten about come back to haunt you.





	Vantablack 2.0

Michael waits in the dark, and it’s always dark here. That inky black bleeds away even his light, the fire his Father had lit in him when the world began. A black hole siphoning away his grace. His brother is gone now, no one left to rage at, to help hold back the darkness. Even after God left, he never felt so abandoned. Was this his reward? Thousands of years of faithful service- the good son- Left here to rot. Lucifer must be laughing now, Michael hopes he chokes on it. He feels the rift open between worlds, even buried here in the pit, he’s still connected by dulcet strings to this universe, he hears its sad discordant music play. Hears the echo in his own chest. A woman appears, here but not here, her blonde hair so bright in his fading blue. She tells him she has plans for him. Painting the world black one brushstroke at a time.  
Sam looks for Dean, but it seems a mobius strip of despair, a road he’s walked before. He feels like he could measure the years of his life in phases of Dean’s presence, like the moon. But his brother pulls at him like the tide, and he drifts out again, no more choice than gravity. He watches the news, looking for signs- but missing all the warnings. Fate’s cruel merry-go-round is already spinning. Vantablack 2.0, the news screams, now available at stores near you. The hype is so big, so mainstream, it passes right over Sam’s radar. What does paint have to do with hunting, after all?  
The Michael that wears Dean like a necessary evil, he feels the ripples of it. Transference. But he’s not tied to this world as tight, just arrogantly sees the change as the ripple effect he leaves. The marriage of him and this vessel have granted him pride-a sin when worn by his brother-but a birthright to Michael.  
Lucifer knows. Knows more about the cage than anyone else, is bound to it on a cosmic level- so when it starts to fragment, inches at a time- he notices. Watching the black flake off like leaves in autumn. Watches the humans paint part of hell onto their lives, one brushstroke at a time, and it makes him laugh with joy he didn’t know he had. One man paints an entire room Vantablack 2.0. He kills himself when its finished. Knickknacks take on sinister weight, freshly painted doors will never open again.  
Michael waits. He’s learned that, the waiting. Talks to himself, scratches at the darkness that’s left. It lives in his eyes now, tried scratching those but that inky stain will never come out- he’s not blind, but everything takes on a different hue anyway. His light is dark now, indigo instead of glacier-it burns cold and dark, not white and clean. The cage isn’t boundless anymore, he can see the frayed edges, feel the pulse of the warding. He laughs until he screams.  
Dean dreams. Not nice ones- these are the ones that make you pray for dawn. Dawn’s a long way off from what he can tell. Knowing it’s a dream doesn’t help, doesn’t take the edge off the all-too-real pain from being eaten alive by a ghoul, crushed by a witch, and the one that makes him really shudder- ripped apart by hellhounds. A thousand deaths. Each one carves a new place in his soul, hollows out something good. He just wants to die for real this time. He’d take up a knife again just to fucking die and stay dead. He hopes Michael burns out his soul, he doesn’t want heaven- he just wants the dark. Sometimes he dreams about a place so dark it eats sound, its supposed to be bad, he knows this somehow, but it has a separate peace that Dean longs for. He knows if he goes there-its over. No more heaven, no more hell, no more Michael.  
Michael walks Dean’s suit through the motions, experimenting. Trying to reshape this world according to his will. There’s nothing left to stand in his way. Lucifer’s gone now, no warning for his big brother. Michael feels the birthing pains of the cage bleeding, but doesn’t recognize it. There’s a pressure in his head, he finds memories of high altitude in Dean’s brain, puzzles over the similarities.  
Sam finally starts seeing cases, hunters coming back to the bunker with tales of objects so dark it isn’t even a color- its an event horizon. They spin their wheels on the cursed objects theory, waste time on dead ends. Sam looks into vantablack, and its replacement 2.0, but doesn’t see the correlation until Chloe brings something back. The dolls face is missing is all Sam can think. He visibly recoils from it, something that hasn’t happened to him in years. Just being near it sets him off like a tuning fork, he feels fire that burns cold, sees Lucifer’s face taunting him. It puts him back in the cage again, but this one is worse, its in his mind.  
Michael can reach out and catch anything close to the cage now. He’s decorating with demon entrails, covering up the greying black. Painting over it with blood. He laughs like broken glass and his hands are claws dipped in tar. Eve shudders in the depths of Purgatory at the birth of this new monster, nothing sprung from her ever canceled out the rhythm of life like this. What he’s bringing isn’t death, its an undoing. Michael was never meant to endure the cage, the tarnished silver of him rotted from the inside out. He hears the siren call of his vessel, hears the despair that echoes his own.  
Castiel hears the cracking, just was never at a high enough pay grade in heaven to understand what it means. It’s like bugs crawling under his skin, looking at the black face of the doll, Sam couldn’t bear to be in the same room with it, gets the wheels on his head turning. He remembers that black, but it’s not possible. It reminds him of the Leviathan, of the eldritch kind of horror that legion brought. Touching that black makes Cas sleep and he never sleeps.  
The thing that was Michael walks the earth. He caresses things that disintegrate into nothing. He’s Amara, he’s the yawning gap between worlds-more than darkness, he’s the gaping nothing that came before God. He needs no vessel, he draws the black that once imprisoned him back home, instead of a cage- its armor. His footprints wither-salt on the earth- nothing will ever grow there again. Instead, he sows peace in the only way he can- through nothing, through darkness.  
He was never the light bringer, after all.


End file.
